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Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Swans @ Music Hall of Williamsburg, 05.19.2014

As is so often the case these days, bands I never thought I'd get a
chance to see are experiencing a second career with new
audiences. Swans are one such band, and since my trip to NY coincided with hometown shows in
support of their new album To Be Kind, my presence was all but certain before I even set foot in the country.

I'd seen Swans once before when the band reunited for shows at the
Brooklyn Masonic Temple, an appropriate venue for a band that inspires
such religious fervour. What was memorable about the experience was that
the guitars were so loud that they made my skin vibrate as I stood at
the front of the stage; and a woman yelling incoherently throughout the
set proved that "drunken douchebag" need not be gender specific.

Opener Jenny Hval's
place on the bill was baffling to some; when asked about the demure
Norwegian, the dude next to me chimed in: "I liked the songs I heard on
the radio,
but not when I saw them on The Youtube." [Yes, he actually called it
"The Youtube".
And, from now on so will I.] The majority of her music (and indeed,
Jenny herself) seemed too twee to open for the band that wrote "Time is
Money, Bastard"; but during the song "Blood Flight", with its
percussive guitar and Jarbo-esque speak-singing, you get an inkling as
to why she was chosen to
open for Swans. But like when I saw Wolf Eyes a few days prior, I
couldn't shake the feeling that what we were seeing was more akin to karaoke than an actual live performance,
and that the rest of the band could have easily been replaced by DAT.

For all their minimalism and repetition, the members of Swans
could not be replaced by DAT; even if the band were early adoptees of
incorporating tape loops into their live performances, the chaos they
generate is all too human. Bandleader Michael Gira acts not just as
frontman but ringmaster and conductor (an image made all the more
poignant as he reads his lyrics off of, I kid you not, a sheet music
holder). The rest of the band watched him intently for cues as to when
to build the music up, take it down, and pull the plug. The man himself
is a whirling dervish when it suits him, dancing in circles as the music
builds to oppressive levels. [He's also warmer than his reputation
suggests, saying hello to my friend Phil and I as he passed us in the
upstairs lounge, cowboy hat and all.]

The band that inspired everyone from
Napalm Death to Neurosis seem to have no use for conventional ideas of
"heavy": Guitars blanket the audience while serpentine bass lines drive
the music. Swans probably aren't a band with a frequently updated "riff
library" -
you get the sense that all their guitar strings could be tuned to the
same note and it
wouldn't make much of a difference. And yet, it works, with no one
instrument being more important than the other.
Percussionist/multi-instrumentalist Thor got singled out for praise by
audience members - seemingly for no other reason than the
fact that it's fun to yell "Thor" at the top of your lungs.

Before the band takes its final bow, there is drama to be had, with
bassist Christopher Pravdica making a point of kicking his rig. "I'm
sorry, I guess we blew another bass amp," Gira said by way of
explanation. "We just blew one last night." Apologies? For what? The
bass turning into an indistinct and menacing rumble only made Swans
sound more like old Swans, ensuring that this new generation of fans got
their money's worth, tinnitus and all.